TPP blues

July 12, 2015

The vast majority of humans don’t see the need to think deeply about the TPP. They should. But they don’t unfortunately. That’s because the human condition doesn’t lend itself favorably to prioritising the cogent and important.

We only think, we have the reasoned ability to arrange our thoughts and process them competently. We fuss over finicky trains, mull over food labels on tin cans, quibble over whether supermarket plastic bags will end up smothering baby seals in distant lands that we only ever see on TV.

Yes…the irony is that we believe, we are beyond reproach, that we can always be counted to make the right informed decisions to even apply our intellect suitably…unfailingly. But all we really have is the illusion that we can think and this we often do by fashioning an alternate reality where we have somehow convince ourselves that we know what lays instal for us in the future.

While we go about our daily business. Preoccupying ourselves with the insignificant, trivial and vapid. We remain blissfully oblivious to the malevolent influence of the invisible hand – we much prefer to live in that hermetically sealed bubble of what we have come to regard as the infallible stream of consciousness. That blob, where we are inclined to fashion ourselves like everyone else…..only because we go thru so much of life with roughly the same processing power it takes to tie shoelaces. To take faith in the idea when trains pull up on the platform on time or when we turn our taps clear and clean water spouts out, someone is seeing to our welfare, our well being, that the good life – la dolce vita, is always somewhere installed in the future like an sublimely delicious Easter egg just waiting for us to pop up and carry it away in a bright colored crisp paper bag. The future we tell ourselves is bright, the good life is assured. Always within our grasp. Not this year perhaps. Or even the next year. Because there will always be hiccups with either the economy or whatever happens to punch out from the grinding cacophony of our averagely miserable lifes. But like the faint watermark impression on a dollar bill that we never ever need to check out, because everyone knows and believes….it’s just there! Because someone said so and the last time we checked, we could more or less make it out. The future must be assured and it’s all there for the taking. It’s good to go! So we continue to believe that the future is bright or maybe it takes cue from religion – I don’t really know.

Life is beautiful. Or should I say made to appear beautiful.

No. There is no need to bother oneself with the TPP….ignorance is truly bliss. It is the opiate of the masses…..there are times when I wish, I do see what I see. As it is so often a source of profound sadness.

‘I have somewhere in my mind. The image of a stone frog that sits at the edge of a pond. I don’t really know how this image manage to latch itself into the collage of my childhood memories. I simply know it to be one of the many montages of my consciousness ever since I could string a memory – a figurine that’s composed of some unusual material I reckon that resembles the texture of sand stone. The earthly sort of tone that doesn’t frighten wild elephants. As they seem to know it to be of and from the crèche of nature.

Maybe it’s the way the light falls on this frog that infuses it with such a supernatural quality – there’s a diffused quality about how the light baths this stone frog. How it even manages to seem so surreal in the way light seems almost to linger around it like wispy strands of wild cotton on a sunny day, that suggest this frog is from another world. That it’s not from this world at all….it’s there, but not really there, if you know what I mean.

In the moment of my youth. I yearned to be this metaphoric frog. By this I mean, all I ever desired in life is to sit quietly beside a still pond all by myself. To be unconcerned by the ebb and flow of worldly matters, to treat it all as a matter of profound indifference to even suggest that the most important thing in my knowledge of the known universe was only to be part of this very moment when everything is so quiet and still, when I am simply a frog sitting beside a still pond.’

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